


This fire is out of control

by feyrelay



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Fuck Or Die, Hiding, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quiet Sex, Senses Dialed to Eleven, Sex Pollen, Spit As Lube, Sweat, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 10:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19294087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyrelay/pseuds/feyrelay
Summary: There's really not enough room in their hiding spot to fuck, but Peter's temperature is rising from whatever they've been given, and Tony-Well, Tony's determined.[Fills my Tony Stark bingo square R3: "Mission Gone Wrong"]





	This fire is out of control

Dosed with aphrodisiacs on a mission and stripped of their suits by whomever it was who had anticipated their arrival, Tony and Peter end up hiding behind a bunch of gear and boxes stacked up in the freight elevator.

They managed to kill the power before heading there so that no one will think to look for them in that particular area, deciding to wait out the effects of the drugs rather than try to run, as they're not in the city and aren't sure where to go if they get out.

Peter, though, is still so sensitive. Their mysterious opponents must not have known what dose to give him, with his metabolism, and his heart is rabbiting out of his chest. They probably overestimated Spider-Man's tolerance.

Tony can feel Peter's pulse against his own.

Also, the hot length of Peter's erection in his hip, and his rapid breaths on his face. It's a whole experience, as far as Tony is concerned.

Peter seems to agree, if the low begging is anything to go by. "Please, please, my lungs are on fire. I need- I can't breathe- Touch me-"

"Shhhhhh! Do you want us to get caught?"

Peter seems to stop and consider that. "Do you think they'd fuck me if we were caught or just try to kill us?"

"Kid, you really. _Fuck_ -" Tony manages, picturing it.

Peter's eyes are shiny-dark in this lack of light, picking up whatever scant photons are bouncing around.

Tony gets one hand around Peter's mouth, feeling the press of the kid's teeth against his palm, through the thin skin of his cheek. The other hand palms Peter's erection. He whines into Tony's hand at that.

Gotta say, that sound really works for Tony. He can feel it as well as hear it, even at that low volume, with their proximity. It is so fucking hot in here he's sweating, his hands slick with it, but that just makes it easier to manhandle Peter into position. Tony's hands slip on Peter's bicep and face as he gets them into a better configuration. It makes it easy to get his hand where it needs to go to feel how burning up Peter is, as he steals into Peter's personal space, knuckles brushing his well-cut, sweaty belly and the scrub of pubic hair.

The younger man's cock is already leaking, practically searing Tony's palm when he gets at it. This close, Tony can smell him—practically taste him—in the air, and it's not as though Peter is the only one who was dosed. Every fiber of Tony's being wants to make Peter come right now. He's wild with it, and it shows in his punishing strokes.

Peter laps at his other hand, closed tight over the kid's mouth, like a dog. He licks like he just wants to taste the salt on Tony's skin, like he needs to fill up his senses with it in order to be complete.

There's not really much talking for a moment, just Tony's barely controlled breaths and Peter's sounds muffled by Tony's sheer will. Tony, doing his best to multi-task, tries to keep him quiet while he enjoys the weight of Peter in his hand, the smooth glide of him, the vein against his lifeline in his palm, the flared head against the pad of his thumb. It's a lot.

Peter bites into the webbing between Tony's forefinger and thumb, appearing desperate to speak up.

"I can't, it's," he says desperately, when Tony permits it. "It feels so good, Jesus _fuck_ , but I think the drugs- I think I need- Oh, Daddy-"

"Shhhh," Tony hisses, not wanting him to speak too loudly. "What, then? I'm afraid your heart will give out if we don't-"

But Peter shushes _him_ this time. "I hear something. Two people, maybe three, making a sweep."

Peter turns carefully in his arms, so so quiet. From what Tony can make out on the dark, he looks like he's concentrating, like he wants to hear better.

Tony pushes the back of Peter's thin tee shirt up, needing some kind of skin-to-skin contact to keep his sanity. The fabric is damp and Peter's skin is even more so. There's a humid sort of warmth between them that Tony can't help but lean into, even as he's silent in what his body is calling fear but he personally is calling strategy.

After a tense moment of listening, Peter informs him, "They said they can't search this area without flashlights. I think they're leaving and coming back."

That makes sense. The red emergency lights that came on after they cut the power only illuminate the evacuation route, not this storage area.

"So we need to be gone or at least have our shit together in-"

"- what like ten minutes, maybe?" Peter finishes the sentence for him, voice breathy.

Something inside him that is pragmatic and careful and hungry and ruthless speaks. He can't help it. "Peter, honey, this won't take ten minutes, I don't think. Not with how hot for me you are."

A bona fide  _wave_ of desire seems to rip through Peter at that, at Tony's acknowledgement of the facts. (At Tony's permission to address them.)

He can hear the excitement in Peter's voice, the raw need. It may be the drugs talking but goddamn if it doesn't sound good. Tony's gonna save this to savor later. "Are you gonna fuck me right here, Mr. Stark?" he asks.

"Are you gonna be quiet for me so we don't get fucking shot?" Tony returns.

But Peter's already squirming and wriggling, drawing the cheap pants he'd been given down to just barely expose his ass, which is pale and gorgeous even in the low light. "Anything you say, anything you want-"

Tony thrills to that promise, but he also just really needs him to be quiet and he really needs to figure out how he's gonna get his dick inside without lube, so he kills two birds with one stone and hooks his fingers into Peter’s mouth. "Get these wet for me sweetheart. I know you know why and I know you know how," he murmurs, almost whisper-quiet, in Peter's ear.

And Peter does it, breath hitching happy and willing. He gives Peter a minute to spit and lick all over his fingers, tongue running up the space between the two like a seam before he sucks, trying to give Tony the most wetness he can muster to work with.

Tony tries to praise him, still cautious, but aware as he has been for years that Peter needs his approval, thrives on it. "You're so good, I knew you would know how to do this. I bet you've fingered yourself open with just saliva before. Did you pretend your fingers were me, tonguing you out? Did you dream of me softening up your hole so I could fuck it-"

Finally, there's nothing else for it and Tony draws his fingers away and down, does his best to open Peter up, to get him to relax. He doesn't want their 'lube' to dry out and he's aware they're on a time crunch so he starts out with two fingers straight away. Peter whimpers.

However, Peter also takes it like a champ and Tony feels compelled to tell him so. "Look at this slut hole you've got, it didn't even flinch. It wants me inside, it's practiced but not satisfied, is that right? Nothing you've ever given this ass is enough; it knows what dick it really needs, am I wrong?" he breathes into Peter's neck. 

"No, you're not wrong, sir," the younger man agrees easily, as if under his spell. Tony hushes him; he hadn't really needed an answer, not when he already knew.

Peter's not having it, though, when it comes to the careful pace of Tony's fingering. He overcomes Tony's free hand enough to whine and then grabs blindly behind him for Tony's thigh, pulling him forward, silently begging.

"S'gonna hurt if you don't wait for me to finish getting you ready," he warns.

"Don't care, _please_ , Daddy. Need it. Gotta hurry, fuck me fast, come _on_ -"

And, Jesus H. Christ, but he's only a man. He's only a man pressing his _protégé_ into a wall of crates, stifling hot at gotta-be-90 degrees in here, inches between them. Tony takes Peter's urging hand off his thigh and directs Peter to his own hole. "Use your fingers baby. Keep yourself open for me while I get my cock out."

It doesn't take but a second, and he's covered in sweat and precome already, so slick. So it's only a nudge, really, a half-press forward to line up.

Tony expects Peter to have to pull his fingers away to avoid a tangle, but oh, his boy is too good. He's made a perfect space for Tony where he's holding himself open at the rim and Tony slides thick right between his fingers. He's so fucking hot where Tony's cockhead is meeting the resistance of his body, it practically burns him.

His baby being so clever also frees Tony up to grasp at Peter's hip, bruising. He holds Peter still and muffled as he jerks forward, relying on momentum to break through the vice-like clutch of him.

Tony's other hand seals to Peter's mouth again, desperately, as he sets up a short, sharp, deep fucking motion. There's so little space that he barely leaves Peter's body, but then again he barely needs to; he can already feel Peter clenching and shivering around the length of him.

"Shh. Shh. Shh," Tony manages rhythmically, on each thrust. Peter, wanton, nearly pops his shoulder out of place reaching back to pull Tony into him with hot little hands. Tony can feel Peter's shoulder joints creak under his own face where he's pressed it into the juncture of Peter's neck.

And Peter's not the only one who's wanton. Tony, selfish, takes his hand off Peter's mouth to reach down and thumb at Peter's filled hole instead. He can hardly see a thing through the pervasive gloom of the power outage and they're being so quiet... He needs to feel it, to know it's real. He tests the edge of where he's fucking and grinding into Peter's body.

It gives both of them too much freedom. Tony, feeling the exact reality of his cock pounding into Peter’s heat beneath his fingers, suddenly gets an idea of where he ought to be aiming and adjusts accordingly. Peter, mouth untamed, moans like a trained whore when Tony finds his prostate and nails it like his life depends on it.

The thing is, it feels like his life kind of _does_ depend on it. "Peter, honey, I need you to come from this. Can you do that? Come for Daddy. Come on Daddy's cock. Come with me pressing deep in you, baby, I know you can do it."

Peter whines like Tony's faith in him is misplaced.

It's a big ask, after only a few moments of rough fucking, he knows, even for Peter. Tony reaches forward and wraps a hand around Peter's dick, still heavy. He strokes it a few times, fist tight, and Peter whines again, the sound shattering and shuddering in his chest. Tony can feel it through the kid's back, up into his own ribcage.

"You can do it, Peter, I know you can. We gotta burn this shit outta your system. You gotta make it out of here alive so we can do this again, for real, preferably in a bed," he promises.

Peter pants, and presses back on Tony's cock. _Poor baby is trying so hard,_ Tony thinks. 

"You're gonna save us both, especially with me outta my suit. I got you, Pete. Come on," he encourages.

He splits his focus between fucking right over Peter's prostate and propelling him tight and steady into Tony's own fist. He adds a little twist at the head, desperate for any trick that'll get them both off. Every time his wrist twists and slides the ring of his fingers along Peter's slick, heavy cock, the kid's hole clamps down for all he's worth. It's an insane feedback loop.

"Come on baby, Daddy's so so close. Your hole loves me so much baby, it wants me to fill it up. Come on, show me you like it. I believe in you, come on Spider-Man, come for Daddy, let me have it, let me make you sloppy inside, let me breed this tight cunt you got here-"

Tony's not sure what does it, in the end, but with a grunt Peter manages it, spilling over Tony's knuckles in a mess of relief, sweat pouring off both of them.

Tony swears a blue streak, reacting to the punishing pressure of Peter clamping down on him and finally finally letting go to paint Peter inside until he's full up.

It's a hot, stifling moment before either one of them can do more than try not to be too loud, their breaths filling up the tiny, humid space between crates. 

Finally, it's Tony that takes it upon himself to speak first. "Okay, so, what's the plan, Spider-Twink? You're feeling better, I hope."

Peter yawns, maneuvering Tony's arms around him. "Plan? I dunno, I told Nat and Barton to come back no sooner than ten minutes, so we have a few."

"Yeah, but not _all_ of our teammates wanna see your bare ass with my come dripping out of it. That's why Barnes and Rogers won't roleplay with us like this anymore, so why don't you stop being a brat and pull your pants up?"

Tony feels and hears Peter's twisting mouth, his defiance, rather than seeing it, but it's there. 

"Make me."

Oh, with pleasure. 


End file.
